


Unfinished Business

by Davechicken



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 03:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Note: Set in an imagined future of season two.)</p>
<p>In a dream, all things past and future can happen at once. In a nightmare, you might even know why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swietlik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swietlik/gifts).



“That’s not going to work, Miles.”

Miles stubbornly refuses to turn around – or even acknowledge the criticism. His tongue peeks past his lips as he checks his still. It will work. It will, because he’s done it before.

“You have the balance wrong. You didn’t put enough—“

“I put the same amount in as I did last time,” he snaps. “And that worked out fine.”

Bass’ fingers drum on the tabletop. “You forgot this.”

Miles turns and looks. Fuck. He’s right. He completely forgot to add the sugar. Without it, his latest batch would have been utterly ruined. 

“I was going to add it later.” He tries to keep his voice calm, but he can hear the notes of irritation. “As an experiment.”

“You… you’re forgetting things again, aren’t you?” Bass leans back against the bar. Miles can see him out of the corner of his eye. Can see the man staring at him with that worryingly intent expression. Can see how he’s looking at nothing but him. He can’t turn to face him, though. He can only carry on with his brewing.

“I’m old, Bass. I forget things once in a while.”

“You’re not _that_ old.” Bass sounds amused rather than insulted. “You’re drinking too much. Sleeping too little. You aren’t eating, and you aren’t looking after yourself.”

“Well, tell me something I don’t know. It’s got me through life this far, hasn’t it? I’m not about to change the habit of a lifetime.”

Miles finishes tinkering with his still and grabs a cloth to wipe his hands. He ignores the pained look on Bass’ face as he stalks past – grabbing a bottle of his last round – and storms off back to the room that passes for his bedroom, living room, kitchen… everything but the bathroom. This place is smaller than the Grand, but it suits him fine. If he was anywhere more conspicuous, it would make it too easy for Charlie or someone else to find him again and that’s the last thing he wants.

No. Second to last thing.

***

_The cars in the distance hum softly as they pass. It’s soothing to listen to them careen along and out of earshot. It’s a sound he never remembers being without. The pervasive hum of life. The buzz and whirr and clicks. The strip-light whine. It’s muted under the sound of the river bubbling past, but it’s there._

_On his left, Emma is pressed against him. Her hair falls over his shoulder and her hands steal under the fabric of his jacket. She’s smiling across him to Bass, who sits on his other side. Bass who simply stares back at them both. The three of them letting the night close in._

But it’s not right. It can’t be right. The power went out years ago, and the cars ground to a halt never to move again. The strip-lighting cried out and died, and the only sounds left were those of the protesting planet and the revolting humans who didn’t know what to do with themselves.

He looks down at Emma and he knows he’s dreaming. She’s simultaneously young and innocent, and old and world-weary. The Emma he was engaged to and thought he would spend the rest of his life with… and the woman trapped in a building Bass set alight to call him home. But it doesn’t hurt his eyes to see both at once, the way dreams just make sense in their own, special way. It just… is.

He looks over to Bass and it’s the same there. Bass is seventeen and stupid, forty-seven and stupid and all the things in between. He’s haunted in the eyes and it hurts to look at him.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Miles says. “ **You** shouldn’t be here.”

“But I am,” Bass tells him. “I am, and I always will be.”

“It’s okay,” Emma says. “It’s okay that he’s here. He should be here. It’s where he belongs.”

Like cold water hitting his face, the real world slams into Miles’ chest and he sits bolt upright. It’s pitch black and there’s no noise but the wind. No light but the stars. No one in the room but him. 

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes until sparks fly and it stings. He’s tired of that dream. It haunts him most of his nights and is almost always the same. There’s only one dream worse, though.

“Don’t worry,” Bass tells him. 

Miles doesn’t look over to where the man is standing by the doorway. 

“You don’t need to worry about the other dream. It won’t happen again.”

“That’s the problem,” Miles says. “It already did.”

***

The sun is already on its slow descent when he finally manages to rouse from the creaking cot he calls a bed. A far cry from his room in Philadelphia – worse even than his bunk when he was still a Marine – but it’s better than some of the places he’s slept in the past seven years. 

Miles puts the plug in the sink and pours some of the water from the bucket into the basin. He dips his hands in and splashes his face. It’s cold and it helps somewhat with the grogginess in his head. Grogginess thanks in part to the bourbon, but mostly if he’s honest to the constant steam of pain behind his eyes when he tries to sleep. He never feels good in the mornings – afternoons – whatever – any more.

“You look like shit,” Bass tells him.

“You don’t look so hot yourself, Bass. Fuck off.”

“Well that’s not very nice.”

Miles closes his eyes and counts to ten. Behind his eyelids, he sees it again. Sees Bass. Sees Bass charging forwards with ten men behind him. Sees the bright flash of light and the dust of mortar and he doesn’t see Bass again.

He doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to see what comes next to know. Doesn’t need to see his oldest friend in the whole damn world crushed under falling masonry. Doesn’t need to see his limbs twisted and broken and his face caved in. Doesn’t need to see blood tangling through those beautiful curls. Doesn’t need to see the look of betrayal on his face as the life leaves him. Doesn’t need to watch him die.

Miles screams in fury and punches the wall.

Bass follows him down to the bar.

***

Every day it is the same. Bass follows him like a lost puppy dog. He follows him like they’re kids again. Follows him like the lights just went out, and he’s the only thing left in the world. Follows him like he did until the day Miles lost it and ran away, unable to keep going under the constant, heavy pressure of being there for both of them.

Bass doesn’t seem to remember about that part, though. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Instead he just lingers in whatever room Miles is in and chimes in with how worried he is. How Miles is fraying. How it looks like they’re in for another cold winter. How he remembers that time when they were in Kabul and…

…and it’s driving Miles around the bend. It’s bad enough that he feels the guilt for Bass’ death. Bad enough that it’s all his goddamn fault to begin with. But here is Bass – a product of his own tortured, permanently alcohol-addled mind and soul, or an honest-to-goodness ghost he’s not sure – here is Bass trying to look out for him. Even in death, the man won’t leave him alone.

Won’t hate him. Won’t scream abuse at him for pulling a gun in the night and pointing it at his lover’s head. Won’t tell him he’s the worst human being who ever lived for making Bass into the leader of their free world, then turning on him when he didn’t like how his handiwork turned out. Won’t whale into him for ruining his whole damn life, ruining the only thing he left the man with… destroying Philadelphia, murdering thousands of his troops then having the gall to ask for his help.

Not that it was quite like that, but it’s how Miles sees it. The uneasy truce. 

Bass had been content to brawl his way through the world. Drinking and fucking and fighting. He’d been content to carve out a small part of the world for himself… and Miles and Charlie and their stupid excuse for a rebellion had dragged him back into the fight. Dragged him up against those maniacs Randall was working for. Dragged him once more from the quiet life into global politics and fighting.

Because he was good at it. No matter what else Miles has to admit… the man knew war. He knew it as well as Miles himself did. Even with no men, he was an asset and they used him. Dragged him in on promises of – of what? He doesn’t even remember. Some stupid carrot they dangled in front of the man.

It never needed to be much. It never did with Bass. Even after all these years… Miles only had to say ‘come’ and Bass did.

Bass did.

And things had been rocky, but… Miles had hoped maybe something was going to work out. Maybe if they stayed apart but they kept him on side then it would be fine. He didn’t trust himself around Bass, and he didn’t trust Bass around him. But as long as they were nominally on the same side… it was fine.

“It’s not your fault,” Bass says, interrupting Miles’ long mental self-abuse. “It was war. It was one of those things.”

“Like fuck it was. You should never have been out there on your own. I should never have asked you to lead them. We should have stayed together and…”

“It made tactical sense,” Bass points out. “Outflank. Assault on their weakest point. Take advantage of their flaws.”

“It wasn’t a flaw.”

“We know that now.”

“We should have…”

“No. We made a mistake. But it wasn’t your fault. I would have done the same thing, too.”

Miles shakes his head. No. No, Bass wouldn’t. Bass would never have split them up. He might have sent a contingent of men, but he’d never have split the pair of them up. They would have charged the flank together – leading from the front. They would have both wound up dead in that trap. Both wound up in a pile of broken limbs, and Miles wouldn’t be left here with the knowledge that he’d let Bass die because he couldn’t stand to be near him. Because he wanted Bass as far away from him as possible. And now he’s dead. He’s dead and it’s all his fault.

“No, Bass.”

“I forgive you.”

“Well… I don’t.”

***

_This time the dream is different. Miles knows he’s dreaming as soon as he’s aware he exists. As soon as the shifting thoughts turn into sounds and images. It’s all a shade of blue, and he wonders why._

_Emma is lying on a boat that steadily floats away from the shore. She’s wearing white – her wedding dress, he realises – and her hands are folded over her chest. She’s holding a bouquet of red roses that are bleeding slowly and staining the perfect white of her dress. The colour trailing down to her stomach where…_

_…where…_

_…where she was shot._

_“She’s so beautiful. I mean. She always was. But she looks so peaceful like that,” Bass says. He’s standing on the shore and he’s in his full General’s uniform. Starch, crisp lines. Starch, crisp stance. Miles admires the outline from behind. He’s lit by the low-hanging moon and the glow from the water. It hurts. It hurts to look at him._

_“She’s dead, Bass.”_

_“I know.”_

_“We killed her.”_

_“I know.”_

_They did. They fucked her life up, too. Both of them. Miles knows that if they hadn’t shown up with their bad-boy attitudes and their devil-may-care outlook then she would have found a nice man and settled down. It wasn’t like she was shy of suitors. Everyone wanted her._

_Hell. Even Bass._

_“You should go with her,” Miles suggests. “Maybe you will be at peace, too.”_

_“I can’t, Miles.”_

_“Why not? You always loved her. Maybe as much as I did. Maybe as much as you loved me.” And it chokes him to say this. Chokes him to realise how stupid they were. Both in love with the same woman. Both in love with one another. So many ways to be happy and now they are both dead, and he’s responsible for both of their deaths. He stares down and expects to see blood on his hands._

_“Because you need me, Miles. I can’t leave. You need me.”_

_And Miles knows he does. Knows the reason Bass haunts his dreams and his days is because he wants him to. Knows the reason he talks to the voice in his head when no one is listening is because he’s the only thing Miles has left, now._

_And Miles knows he can’t be at peace, because the bloodstains on his soul go too deep. Because he ruined their lives, and he deserves to suffer for it. Deserves to rot in hell._

_He drops to his knees and everything goes white._

***

“Miles. Miles. Wake up. Miles. MILES.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles. “You kept me up all night, you can sure as hell let me sleep in.”

“Miles… someone’s at the door.”

“They can fuck off, too,” he suggests. 

“Miles? Who are you talking to? Are you going to let me in?”

Shit. Of all the people it could be, it has to be the one person he least wants to see in the world.

“Miles doesn’t live here any more. He’s dead.”

“Miles, open the door. If you don’t open the door, I am going to open it anyway, and you’re going to be more embarrassed than me if you’re naked with some woman.”

“Not if it’s your mom, Charlie,” Miles snaps back. “Fine. Give me a minute.”

Miles pushes himself up from the cot and runs fingers through his unruly hair. It’s too long, but he’s been letting it grow shaggy and ridiculous to piss off Bass. He turns to tell the ghost to make himself scarce, and is surprised to find he’s vanished as quickly as he arrived.

Fine. That makes sense. Bass never would have gotten on with his niece. Or maybe they would have gotten along too well, if things had been different. Too well indeed.

“You’re lucky I don’t shoot you,” he says as he pulls open the door and glowers at her.

“It’s nice to see you too,” she sasses right back at him with a smile. 

Fucking kid. She’s too much like him for her own good. Not enough like Ben. 

“What do you want, Charlie? I don’t have any brothers left for anyone to kill. I told you when I left that I’d had enough of fighting. I’ve had enough of everything. The Patriots can destroy the whole damn world for all I care, and no amount of batting your eyelashes at me is going to stir me now. Why won’t you just let me die in peace?”

“There’s someone I need you to see, Miles.” Charlie’s voice is strangely tight. Fuck. What’s happened? Did she go and get herself knocked up? Miles tries to count the months since he’s seen her to work out if she might have. Not that he wants anything to do with it. He’s had enough of family. He’s nothing but a force for destruction, and should be kept away from anyone and everyone he could possibly hurt.

That’s when she steps to one side and gestures to the person hiding behind the wall. 

Miles’ eyes narrow.

“So… both of you are dead?” he asks, confused. 

“No, Miles,” Charlie says. “We’re not dead.”

“Are you sure?” He grabs a handful of her hair and she slaps his hand as he pulls it.

“Yes I’m sure, Miles. We’re not dead. Now… will you just… talk to one another?”

“Hi.”

Just one little word. One little word from Bass’ chapped and healing lips. Miles lets go of Charlie and stares at him.

He’s not like he remembers from his visits. Not the young and vibrant man full of hope and fire. Not the dusty, shattered corpse reanimated to mock him. He looks… older. Deep creases line the man’s face. Heavy under his eyes and his cheeks hollowed with long weeks of malnutrition. Those blue eyes that were always so alive and bright look… haunted and pained. Worse than Miles ever remembers seeing. Worse even than his nightmares. One word and the whole world falls apart.

Miles staggers and grabs hold of the door to keep from falling to his knees and is surprised when two pairs of hands are on him in a blink. Charlie going to one arm instinctively, and Bass to the other. They certainly feel real. Warm and alive. And it makes his stomach pitch and roll.

“What the fuck?” is all Miles can say, shoving their hands off him and going back into his room. Turning his back on them. “What the fuck is going on, Charlie. Just… tell me. Tell me what’s going on.”

He stands with his hands on the back of the single chair in his hole of a room. Nothing makes sense and he doesn’t know… doesn’t know if maybe he finally has just flipped. Grief and alcohol combining to make his mind snap. Or maybe this is another torment sent to punish him for all the wrong he’s wrought on the world. All the mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters and lovers he’s destroyed. 

 

“We got intel,” she says. “Heard that the Patriots had a key hostage, and that they were close to breaking or terminating him. We went in and found they had Monroe. Miles… they had him all along.”

“No.”

“Yes, Miles.” She walks in and touches his shoulder and he flips. He swirls on his heel and grabs her wrist, pulling it back from him. 

“ **No.** ”

“She’s right, Miles.” Bass’ voice is still quiet. “I’ve been… they found me in the rubble and they’ve been trying to break me ever since. Charlie and her people saved me.”

Miles glares at Charlie as if it will make her change her story. He can’t look at the broken thing that looks like Bass. Can’t. Won’t. 

“This is bullshit, Charlie. I saw him die. I _saw_ him **die**.”

“No, Miles. None of us did. We just… assumed. And when we lost and we ran… we never got a chance to check. He’s real, Miles. Monroe is here.”

“Why the fuck have you brought him to me?” Miles demands. “Why?”

Charlie has the decency to look down. “I know he did plenty of bad things, Miles. And I wanted him dead for a long time. I wanted him dead for what he did to my dad – to Danny – but he helped us, Miles. He saved me in the Tower. He came to fight with us when he had no reason to. And he’s just spent the past seven months in a prison cell being tortured because we left him there.”

“That doesn’t explain why you brought him here.”

Charlie shoves his hand off. “Will you just wake up and listen, Miles? You’re an idiot at times. Your best friend was _tortured_ for seven months, nearly killed, and you wonder why I’m bringing him to you? Don’t you think you’ve both suffered enough?”

Miles feels the shame well up like a tsunami in him and he’s immobilised by it. His mind keeps trying to process it, and all he can think is that he’s fucked up even more than he thought. All this time spent thinking Bass was dead, and he was being tortured and Miles didn’t even think to go look for his body?

“Miles…” Bass enters the room on soft, soldier’s feet. “If you want me to go, I will.”

“You will not,” Charlie snaps at him before Miles can even speak. “The pair of you are the biggest idiots I ever met in my _life_. Miles – you’ve tried to kill yourself with drink _again_ because you thought Monroe was dead. And you—” She shoves a finger into Bass’ chest and Miles is gratified to see the shocked expression on his face when she does.

Until he realises that the man is cowed, and withering under her ire. The Bass he knew wouldn’t…

“You,” she goes on to Bass, “you have done plenty of bad things, but I think coming back to help us showed you’re not as bad as you think you are. And I _know_ you didn’t sell us out, when you had every opportunity to. So for the love of everything… will the pair of you just… sort this out!”

“Sorry, Charlotte.”

Hearing his niece’s full name is jarring, and Miles doesn’t put it past Bass doing that deliberately. She cracks him around the ear. 

“I am locking you two in here and you are not coming out until you get the hell over yourselves. I don’t care if neither of you rejoin the rebels. You’ve both done enough. But I am not about to see you both destroy half the country again because you won’t just make up.”

And Charlie flounces out.

Miles takes it back. She’s more like Ben than him today. And maybe a bit more like Rachel than he likes to think.

She does slam the door shut, and this leaves Miles in the uncomfortably small room with the man who was once everything. His best friend. His brother. His lover. His General. The man he made his leader, even though he knew all Bass ever wanted was to follow.

“She takes after both of you,” Bass says, staring at the closed door and echoing his thoughts in the same way he always has. “She’s grown up so much. I wasn’t surprised it was her, when they opened my cell. It was always going to be you, her, or an executioner.”

“Bass…”

“No… it’s okay, Miles. I know you don’t want to be around me. It’s alright. I’ll just sit here for a bit until she thinks we’ve spent enough time together, then we can convince her it’s all fixed and then when she’s not looking we can both go off in different directions and you never need to see me again.”

“Bass! What the fuck, man? Why would you even _say_ that?”

“Well, you did try to assassinate me – several times – then call me back anyway and refuse to look at me, talk to me… basically try to spend as little time in my presence as possible… It’s okay. I know you’re ashamed of me. I know a few fire fights and a few months in prison won’t make amends for what I’ve done. I know you wish someone else would just kill me so you don’t have to feel guilty about not doing it yourself. I hate me, too.”

Miles finally lets himself turn to face him. Bass’ face is calm, but hurting. The passion and the rage and the fury is all bled out of him. Miles wonders what else has been bled out of him. Hearing Bass hate himself like this is agony. Hearing what his refusal to deal with what became of their relationship is like watching him die all over again.

“I don’t want you dead,” Miles tells him. “Fuck… Bass… every night since that ambush I’ve had nightmares. I’ve spent the last seven months convinced you were dead and haunting me. Turns out instead I was just insane and seeing things. Bass… if I could have done _anything_ to bring you back, I…”

He can’t go on. The thought of him dead again is so strong he just can’t go on. Broken, he sinks down onto the cot and puts his head in his hands. Tears stream down over his face and… this is it. This is hell. This is his punishment. He’ll wake up again in a few moments and probably have to do this all over again. Over and over and over, until his body can’t take the punishment he forces himself to keep breathing for. Until he finally chokes on a pool of his own vomit and lies where he falls until the earth swallows him back up whole. 

This is hell. This is Miles Matheson’s own, personal damnation.

Bass reaches out and his fingers glance against Miles’ collarbone. Miles grabs it and pulls it into his chest, and suddenly his brother is cradling him against his chest and holding him in tight.

“I’m so sorry, Bass. I’m so sorry. I fucked it up. I fucked it all up. I only… I never should have thought we could rule the world. I never should have made you take over. I should never have tried to kill you. I never should have left you there to die, I should have found you and brought you home. I should have been there for you. I should have found you and brought you home. Oh god…”

Bass’ fingers stroke through his hair, and Miles feels stupidly grateful for the chance to cry against his stomach. He smells of the road and he smells of the city. He smells of Charlie. He smells… of Bass. 

“It’s okay,” Bass says. “It’s okay, Miles. You thought I was dead. Hell. Everyone thought I was dead. It’s why they had me for so long. They knew that if they broke me, my intelligence would be old but valid. Knew no one would suspect it had been compromised, because I’d taken it to the grave.”

Bass drops to sit on the cot beside him, and Miles wraps around him. Arms sliding into place like it was only yesterday they held one another close. They sit and breathe. Every breath in feeling like a broken whiskey-bottle dragged over his guts. 

“You… how did you hold out?”

Bass laughs. “Are you kidding? Miles… there’s nothing the Patriots could do to me I haven’t done – and worse – to a hundred people over the years.”

“That’s not what I mean, Bass.”

Bass shrugs. “I had nothing left. They knew I had nothing left. No Republic. No friends. No family. The only things left to me were keeping you and Charlie and your people safe. They had no leverage on me, because they had nothing they could threaten me with. So I just kept taking what they threw at me, and going through the motions of resistance training. It wasn’t hard.”

“Why didn’t you sell us out?”

“Miles… how can you even ask me that?”

“Bass… you had every right to. I fucked you over. I fucked you over, I destroyed everything you cared about… then I dragged you along on one last damn-fool mission and nearly got you killed. You had no reason to protect me any more. You could have sold me out, and left the rebellion intact. You could have got your revenge on me and you could have died quick and painlessly.”

Miles is surprised when Bass shoves him back, his eyes suddenly bright with the fire he’d thought long dead in his brother. “I would never. Sell. You. Out.”

“Why?”

Miles doesn’t get it. He really doesn’t.

“Charlie’s right, Miles. You’re the stupidest person I have ever known.”

“Yeah, well, she got that right.”

Bass is still just staring at him with a complete lack of understanding. Miles pulls back and stares back.

“I could never betray you, Miles. I could never sell you out. I would sooner take my own life.”

Miles winces, because… because when their positions were reversed? Damn right Miles had betrayed Bass. Well. Mostly. He’d not been able to pull that trigger, but he’d sure as hell betrayed the man’s love and loyalty when he left.

“Why?”

“Fuck you, Miles,” Bass says and he gets up and starts to leave.

Miles’ hand snakes out and grabs Bass’ wrist. “No… don’t go.”

“Why the fuck not?” Bass asks. “You’re so utterly bent on your own destruction that you won’t even… _Miles_. How is it so hard for you to understand me?”

“I don’t see why you don’t hate me enough,” Miles admits. “I’ve been the worst person in the universe. I’ve ruined you. I’ve killed you. And all you ever do is come back for more. Why?”

Bass’ eyes close. “Because, Miles, that’s what love is. It’s loving someone even when they fuck up. It’s loving someone even when they’re a fucking idiot. It’s putting that other person first. It’s…”

“…forgiving?” Miles asks.

The man above him nods, then turns his face away so Miles can’t see the anguish there.

“I love you, Miles. Even if you don’t love me back. I have always loved you. I tried not to, but I never managed it. And you can not accept it as much as you want, but it isn’t going to go away. But I know you don’t feel the same way, so it’s best if I just leave. Please. Please let me leave.”

_Blue light rippling over calm waters. A boat floating out to where the moon hits the horizon. A figure dressed in red and white. Emma. The woman they loved and destroyed. The woman they both left behind._

_‘Go,’ he says to Bass. ‘Go with her. Go be at peace. Leave me, Bass. Leave me.’_

_‘ **No** ,’ Bass answers. ‘I love her, but I love you too. Don’t send me away, Miles. Don’t send me away.’ He’s begging. His eyes are bright with pain. ‘I can’t leave you. I can’t.’_

The memory of the dream is like a bullet-wound, ripping through his soul. Bass. His Bass. His Bass who loves him beyond where it makes sense. The man who followed him even when he was dead. Miles hadn’t wanted him to go, then. His subconscious idea of Bass hadn’t been able to die because Miles hadn’t let him. Hadn’t been able to move on and go into the light… because Miles didn’t want him to.

“No,” Miles growls. “No, Bass. No. I almost lost you twice, I’m not losing you now.”

Bass’ face is a picture of confusion, and Miles wonders if this is what he looked like when Bass told him he could never betray him.

“Miles?”

“Don’t you dare fucking leave me, Bass. Don’t. I have spent _every_ night wishing I could fix this. I have spent _every_ night destroying my heart because without you… it’s nothing. You. Stay. Right. Here.”

Bass hesitates. His eyes flicker over to the door and he can see the man running through everything in his head. Can see how he’s plotting his escape. Can feel it in the way the wrist beneath his fingers tenses. 

And then goes lax.

“Okay,” he says. His voice is tiny and lost. Miles doesn’t ever remember the man sounding so utterly destroyed. 

“Come here,” Miles adds, pulling gently on his wrist. “Come here. Stay with me. Just… stay with me.”

Bass nods and crumples back into the space beside him again. Thigh to thigh. Fingers still holding on, but that’s it. Just… sitting.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Miles says. “I did some horrible things.”

“So did I,” Bass points out.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I… I kept thinking that if I just kept away from you, that we could both… I don’t know. Stop doing stupid things.”

Bass laughs. “I did plenty of stupid things when you weren’t around, Miles.”

“Yeah. Okay. It wasn’t my best plan in the world. I just… I didn’t want… I didn’t want you around because then you’d realise how much you hated me. And then I could just hate myself instead.”

Bass’ laugh is choked. “You’re a fucking moron, Miles.”

Miles smiles in return. “Yeah. I am.”

They sit for a bit longer, and eventually Bass pushes into his side and puts his head on his shoulder. Miles just… lets him. Holds him. Feels the pain bleeding out from Bass and into him, and from him and into Bass. 

“I couldn’t do it, either,” Miles says. “I couldn’t. I tried. And I feel like a fucking dick for trying… but I could never really betray you, either.”

“I know, Miles.” Bass sighs. “I know.”

“Yeah, but I _tried_ to…”

“Stop,” Bass interrupts him. “I’ve had enough of hurting, Miles. I’ve spent seven months with nothing but my own head for company. And I don’t want your sympathy for that, and I don’t want your guilt. But I want you to know I had every opportunity to hate your goddamn guts and all I could think was ‘I hope Miles is okay’. So. Let’s just stop. Let’s just agree to stop hurting. Let’s just agree to stop fighting. Let’s just start over. Let’s just…”

“Live?” Miles asks.

“Yeah. Live.”

Miles nods. “Okay. I can cope with that.”

“Tomorrow… tomorrow we can work out how we start to put things right. How we start to do something good. How we help Charlie and her mission to save the world. But we’ll do it together, Miles. We’ll do it together and we’ll do it right.”

“I still can’t believe she brought you here.”

Bass’ smile against his shoulder is tickly. “Yeah. I know. I guess if even your niece can forgive an old devil like me, then maybe anyone can.”

Miles pulls him in tighter. “It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?”

Bass nods. “Yeah. It’s going to be okay, Miles.” Then he lifts his head and peers around the dingy room. “But we’re going to need a nicer place to live.”

Miles’ laughter lifts the last bit of pain on his chest. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Bass snorts. “I have. My knees are shot. My hair is going grey. And you don’t want to see the state of my shoulders. I look like a fucking pin-cushion.”

He puts a hand on Bass’ face and tilts it up to smile down at him. “You’re still beautiful. Your battle scars just give me a map to follow.”

The slow flush of colour over his lover’s cheeks makes the ice inside his heart thaw. 

“You say the nicest things.”

“Come on, Bass. Show me. It’s time I kissed all your hurts better.”

Bass nods, and his hands move to peel back the fabric from his worn frame.

Miles knows it’s going to take a while to kiss every hurt better. So it’s probably best he starts now. He sits back enough to let Bass undress and he realises the man is... shy. He can see the hesitation in his hands. The tiny little tremors. 

"Do... do you want this?" Miles asks, suddenly conscious that he has no idea what kind of torment the Patriots have inflicted on him.

"Yeah. Sorry. Fuck. It's... it's just been a while."

Bass looks sheepish and starts to move faster. Unfastening his shirt. Shit. The man looks absolutely petrified.

Miles puts his hand on Bass'. "We don't have to do this."

"I want to," Bass blurts out. "Fuck, Miles... don't you think I want to?"

"I think you probably want to as much as I do," Miles agrees. "But I'm not entirely sure it's a good idea, Bass."

"Why, because I'm damaged goods?"

Wow. Okay. 

"No, Bass. Because... because... fuck! Because I don't want to hurt you all over again."

"You asked me to stay," Bass says, his voice dull. "I thought you meant..."

Fucking hell. Miles isn't sure what the right thing to say is. Not even sure what the right thing to do is. He just knows he wants to make Bass happy. Wants to make up in some small way for the hurt he's inflicted on him. He strokes a thumb over the back of his hand. 

"I do, Bass. Believe me. I want you to stay. I want you to stay for good. I want this to... I want this to work. But I don't want to rush you, and I don't want to cause more hurt when you're still healing."

"I..." Bass' eyes go to the door again. Miles wonders if it's because he's spent so long in a cell that he has to keep reminding himself he has a way out. "I... shit. It's just... I didn't... I didn't have anything left to fall back on but memories. I never thought I was getting out of there alive. I thought I was going to die there and I was ready for it."

Fuck. That's worse than Miles thought.

"But you are out," he says, still stroking his hand. "You're out and you're safe. And you're with me."

"I never... made any plans for what would happen next," Bass admits. "I nearly didn't come. Charlie had to..."

He can tell Bass is on the verge of breaking down, and it's terrifying. Miles pulls his hand up and kisses the back of it. "Charlie had to make you. She's a smart kid. Smarter than we ever were. But she knew you wouldn't heal until you were with me."

Bass nods. Miles can see his throat working. Can see him swallowing down gulps of fear.

"Did... did they...?"

Bass shakes his head. Hard. "No. No. I mean... there was plenty of threats but... no."

The angry little knot eases just a little. "Okay. And the people who did this to you?"

"Dead."

"All of them?"

"All of them." Bass pauses. "Charlie killed most of them. I... saw. But she gave me a gun and let me do some too."

The kid really is smarter than she has any right to be, Miles thinks. Especially to give a man like Bass Monroe a gun in those circumstances. Foolishly brave, too.

"I want to see, Bass. I want to see what they did to you. I want to see the hurt I've caused you. And I want to show you... you're still beautiful."

Bass lets out a heavy, wobbling sigh and he nods. He doesn't move, though. Clutching onto Miles' hand for dear life.

"Will you let me?"

A nod.

"Will you tell me if you need me to stop?"

A pause followed by a nod.

"Promise me, Bass. Promise me you'll tell me to stop."

"Okay. I promise. I promise, Miles."

He's not entirely convinced, but it's the best he's going to get. So he lets Bass keep hold of his right hand, as he reaches over with his left. Bass is completely still but his breathing is erratic as hell as he uses the back of his knuckles to stroke over his cheek. He turns his face to give Miles better access, and bites his lip as Miles just keeps his hand there.

"Okay?"

Bass nods.

Up, now. Up and over his temple and into his hair. It's still gorgeous, even now. Even with only the barest glimmer of attention he can see the man has paid. It makes him smile because he's done just the same thing with his untamed mane. He runs his fingers over his scalp and is rewarded by the softest little gasp.

He's about to ask if it's okay again when Bass blurts out a hurried... "Don't stop. Please. Please don't stop."

Miles has no intention of stopping. He lets his hand move to cup the man's face, and he leans in close. Just... breathing in Bass' out-breath. Swallowing all the little hiccupy noises he's trying so hard to keep in. 

"I love you," he says simply, and presses his lips to Bass' before the man can respond.

And... fuck. Fuck but he's missed this. Missed the way Bass tastes. His lips are a mess, but they yield under his like they always have. He kisses him slow and wonderingly, taking the time to appreciate it. Not rushed and frantic like their last few times. Not angry and taking. He doesn't want to take anything, tonight. He only wants to give. 

When he pulls back from the kiss, he's gratified by a deeper moan of pleasure. And then he knows he made the right decision in trying this. Knows that Bass will enjoy the attention. Knows that he can show him how much he loves him by giving something back. His thumb slides over the corner of his mouth. 

"God, but you're amazing," Miles tells him. "I've never met anyone quite like you, Bass. I don't think I ever will."

Bass laughs and whacks at him with his free hand. "I should hope not. Now will you please just keep kissing me, because you have an awful lot of missed time to catch me up on."

"All in due course." He pecks his lips again. "I want to take my time with you."

"You will kill me that way, for sure."

"Never did in the past," Miles replies. And then he surges in to kiss him again with more force this time. 

He's not so worried about breaking the man, now, so he pushes in. Rakes his tongue over Bass' lip, even when the man opens up to him. Strokes over and over along the swell of his lip, eyes closed and pleased when Bass' other hand grabs his shirt at his shoulder and holds on tight. Strokes until he can feel Bass' knee bouncing impatiently, and then he relents. Relents and strokes his tongue into the dark heat of his lover's mouth. Slides his tongue over Bass', fucking his mouth with the slow, heavy heat that's building between them. Fucks his mouth like he used to fuck his ass. And there's a thought that makes his cock strain harder still. Bass' ass. He loved fucking him just as much as he loved _being_ fucked. And judging by the way Bass is turning more to face him, the other man still thinks it's a good idea. 

Miles rakes his hand down over Bass' face and over his chest - deciding it's best to push through any lingering worry in Bass' mind by short-circuiting it with pleasure. He pushes his hand under the half-open shirt and finds one already-pert nipple waiting for his fingers. He presses it between the pad of his thumb and his middle finger and rolls it softly back and forth as the kiss goes on. Rolls it and rolls it and then pinches hard just as he pulls back from the sloppy kiss.

"MILES!" is his reward. His name a shouted plea and prayer in one. "OH. GOD."

Fuck, but that does things to the inside of his head. 

"Mine," he growls, toying harder and harder with his nipple. Gratified by the indecent moans that pulls from his lover's throat. Pleased beyond measure by the way the man's eyes roll up in his head and he's clutching on and helpless. "My Bass."

"Yes..." Bass agrees. "Yes. Oh god, yes. Always."

Bass doesn't protest when Miles turns and pushes him down to lie on the cot. His legs still trail off to the side, but that's okay. It gives Miles a bit of space to work. He pulls his hand free from Bass' grasp, and goes to work pushing the shirt back from his chest.

What he sees... stops him dead in his tracks.

Bass' torso is a mess. Bruises of all sorts of ages blossom over his skin. Some of them look new, and some of them look like they could almost have killed him some weeks since. They're all in the right places, of course. The right places to hurt and incapacitate without immediately killing. Whoever put them on Bass knew where to hit.

"...Miles?"

Between the bruises are the trails where a knife or something similar have danced over his skin. Some faint little snail-trails of silvery-pale flesh. Some that look pink and healing. And then there's a mark from his collarbone trailing down across the centre of his chest like a bandolier. It ends somewhere above the hip and judging by the scar-tissue... it was deep when it happened. Deep. And probably very nearly fatal.

"They are all dead?" Miles asks again, eyes pleading as he turns them on Bass.

"Every last one," Bass confirms. "I counted."

"Good. Because if they weren't..." his finger pushes into the top of the scar. "I would do this to them. I would slice them in half with a rusty knife. I would gut them, and let their entrails spill out on the floor. And then I would watch them bleed out."

Bass' eyes go wide. "That wasn't them," he points out. "That was the building collapsing."

"And who blew up the building?"

"...point taken."

No wonder Bass didn't want Miles to see this. He can see by the way Bass is shrinking into himself that he's not happy with it. Not that Miles is happy with it, either. It's just more evidence of the pain his lover has been through.

"Does it still hurt?"

Bass shakes his head.

"What about the bruises?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

Miles pulls Bass' legs onto the bed, then sits straddling them. Bass panics a little and Miles guesses it's because he feels trapped, so he rubs his hip in slow, soothing motions until it passes. 

He's not sure what to say, so he lets his body take over again. He drops his head to Bass' hip and kisses where the scar ends. That makes Bass jump, but no more. "You're still beautiful," he says, and kisses just below his navel.

"Yeah. Sure." Bass is trying. He knows he is. The man's hands fret over the sparse cotton sheets. 

Miles puts his hands over them to calm him. "You are, Bass. Just... a little more dog-eared now. Pretty soon you're gonna look your age as much as me."

Bass laughs and is clearly going to retort when Miles puts his tongue at the bottom of the scar and slowly traces it up. Whatever he was going to say turns into a whimper of need and hope. That makes Miles smile. He's completely over him now. Completely covering him. He lets his weight slowly sink down and presses against him. Makes sure Bass is ready for this. Ready to feel trapped.

His lover's breathing goes back to erratic as hell and he stirs under him. Miles just stares him down. Dares him to resist. Dares him to try to break free.

"Miles..."

"Shut up, Bass. Shut up and let me love you."

"Miles, I'm serious."

"What?"

"Just... please stop going slow. Please. I can't stand all this silence. I've been alone inside my head so long I... I can't."

Oh. Shit. "Right. Well. You don't need to be alone any more," he says, as he rakes his fingernails down Bass' side. "You don't need to be _quiet_ , any more." As he pushes his head back and nips at his throat. "And you don't have to just lie there and take..."

He shoves his hand inside Bass' pants, then, and grips the half-stiff cock he finds. It shifts in his grasp, and Miles is gratified to find a twist of his wrist and Bass' hips rush up to meet him.

"Fuck!"

"Later," Miles says.

"Yes!" Bass' hands are on him at last. Whatever reticence kept them pinned down is gone, and they roam over his shoulders and down his back. They feel hot and heavy and Miles groans in pleasure. 

"Yes," he agrees. "Keep that up. Oh yes, Bass."

"I was thinking maybe you could be less dressed, too," Bass says. "After all. I've shown you mine. Isn't it time you showed me yours?"

And that brings back so many memories Miles nearly drowns. He sits up and pulls off the tattered red shirt and flings it far away. Then he sees Bass is looking up at him with curiosity and intent... and Miles can feel all the four decades and heavy change on him. It's been years since Bass saw him topless. Years in which he was not kind to himself.

But Bass' fingers tickle over his sides and then start to push at his waistband. He doesn't see any disgust or revulsion on his lover's face... only love. And how could he ever have thought this was anything but right?

Bass manages to get his pants down over his hips and past his ass, and Miles awkwardly moves to lie on his side next to him. Bass doesn't protest when Miles undoes his belt and pushes the zipper down over the teeth. Instead, he rolls onto his side and then they're facing one another on the cot. It's like those early days again. Those early days when all they had was one another. Bass' hand takes his cock and starts to stroke it slowly, and Miles' wrist presses against Bass' as he does the same to him. 

"I've missed you," Bass says. "I've missed you so much."

"I missed you too," Miles admits. "I've never loved anyone since I left."

Bass presses his forehead to Miles'. Miles closes his eyes and imagines all the past few years vanishing. Scrubbing from their souls and their hides with each tender, careful stroke of their hands. He doesn't need it fast and hard. Doesn't need it angry and violent. Doesn't even need to come, right now, if Bass didn't want him to. It's not about getting off. It's about healing. It's about putting the pieces of them back together.

"Don't leave me again," Bass begs him.

"I won't," Miles promises. "I won't. I know. I know, now. I know we can't ever be apart."

His words clearly cut to the bone, because with a little mad gasp, Bass is coming in his hand. He carries on stroking him throughout his climax, pulling every last little drop of pleasure from his body before he dares think of himself.

"Miles..."

Shit. Well he tried. All it takes is his name on Bass' lips and... he's done for. He kisses the word back into him and with a few more pushes of his hips he's coming in Bass' hand, their seed mixing between them and sealing the gap that formed between them so many years ago.

"Thank you," Bass says, as he lets go of his cock and grabs hold of his hand instead. He cuddles in tighter and it's clear he's not going to move any time soon.

"No, thank _you_ ," Miles says. 

"What for?" Bass' voice is coy. Ever so slightly shy.

"For never leaving me, either."

"Well, you're welcome." 

And they don't need to say anything else. Not for a long time, anyway, as they drift slowly into peaceful sleep.

***

_'I'm sorry,' Miles says. 'I'm so sorry for what we did to you.'_

_Emma's beautiful wedding dress is pristine again. She has the train looped over one arm, and the flowers she carries are white lilies. Miles isn't sure what that means, but he knows they look nicer than the blood-red roses._

_'It's alright, Miles. We were all three of us foolish.'_

_'I know. I just wish we'd worked something out sooner. I wish... I wish I could have saved you.'_

_Emma leans in to kiss him on the cheek._

_'I loved both of you. I always will. And as long as you remember me, then I'll still be with you. But it's time you left here, Miles. It's time you stopped coming to visit me. At least for a while.'_

_'No!'_

_She tuts at him, and puts a hand on his shoulder. 'You have to move on, Miles. You have to let go of this hurt. Bass needs you. He needs you to be there for him. He needs you to be strong for him. And I need you to love him for us both.'_

_'But Emma...'_

_Her laughter is forgiving and wonderful, and Miles knows in his heart she is right._

_Somewhere out there - out in the real world - Bass is sleeping in his arms. And when they wake it will be a whole new day. A whole new world. He's been given a second chance to do right, and he has to take it. For both their sake's._

_'You'll see me again,' she reassures him. 'Tell him goodbye from me.'_

_'I will, Emma. I will.'_

_And Miles turns from the silvery light of the moon and walks back towards the day._

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt was the White Lies/Mumford and Sons song 'Unfinished Business'.
> 
> Swietlik has since ILLUSTRATED this!!
> 
> [Here is her lovely drawing of Emma.](http://swietlik.tumblr.com/post/60351229023/this-time-the-dream-is-different-miles-knows-hes)


End file.
